


30 Days of Neal and Henry Promptathon

by steelneena



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Father Son Bonding, Gen, Mentions of Canonical Character Death, i just wanted to see all the time that Neal and Henry spent together offscreen, promptathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:32:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 16,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5136548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelneena/pseuds/steelneena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All November long, every day, I will fullfill a new prompt based around Neal and Henry doing stuff together during all that time we never got to see. Someone on tumblr mentioned that they knew each other, approximately a canonical month, so I decided to write one a day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. November 1st: Neal Teaches Henry to Flirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal teaches Henry a skill that requires and certain...finesse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> November 1st:
> 
> Original prompt: Neal teaches Henry how to flirt.  
> Prompt from lilredsoupbowl on tumblr: Sharing headphones! Neal slides his iPod out; untangles his headphones, and offers Henry one of the earbuds. Together, they listen. And Neal laugh and tells Henry little stories when a song reminds him of something. Or someone.

“Dad?" Henry asked, and like every time his son called him that, Neal’s heart soared. 

"What’s up kiddo?” They’d spent nearly every day together that week and, Neal knew, it wasn’t going to stop any time soon. Henry’s unconditional love was empowering, like a rush to Neal’s head. 

Henry squirmed a little. “Can you teach me…”

“Teach you what?” Neal raised an eyebrow. 

“…Well what if I liked a girl? How would I let her know? I can’t ask my moms - they’re girls too!” the young boy exclaimed seriously. 

The laugh that Neal let loose was full bodied and mirthful. “You want me to teach you how to flirt?” Henry nodded enthusiastically. “Actually, Henry, I think your moms might know a thing or two to your benefit. Things that I don’t know. But I’m not a bad hand at it. First off, you just have to be yourself, Henry. That’s what’s most important. If she can’t like you for you, then she isn’t worth it. But you can do other things too,”

“Like what?”

“Music is a sure fire way to get her interested,” Neal pulled out his mp3 and handed Henry a headphone. “Here - we’ll share. Today my son, I’m going to introduce you to Yazoo, also know as Yaz…” The music washed over them, Neal smiling at the memories. “Works every time," 

"I like it,” Henry sat back, content. “Every time?”

“Every time,”


	2. November 2nd: Future Plans?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry asks Neal an important question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> November 2nd:
> 
> Henry asks Neal if he will stay in storybrooke: prompt from lilredsoupbowl on tumblr

They were sitting on the beach - it had become their spot, Henry decided. At first, he thought that maybe Emma would share the beach with him, but their home was their place, and Henry didn’t have a place with Neal. His dad. They sat quietly. Henry didn’t mind. Enough of their time together was spent talking and doing active things. A little time spent silent and still was pleasant too, but Henry had a question brewing on his tongue.

He looked out over the sea, waves coming in calmly. Beside him, his father was pensive. Henry’s first impression of his father had changed widely since they’d met in Manhattan. He’d discovered that Neal was quiet and introspective in addition to being lively and quick to laugh, easy to smile. His father was a varied man, of deep emotions, who embraced each moment. 

The more Henry got to know him, the more desperate he grew to ask the question. 

“Dad?”

Henry’s father glance down at him, a soft look in his eyes. 

“Yeah Henry?”

“Will you stay in Storybrooke?”

Neal hefted a sigh, and Henry felt his gut twist up. What if he said no?

“If there’s one thing that I know better than anything, Henry, it’s that the future isn’t set. I can tell you I’ll stay, and tomorrow, I might have to leave. I can’t know. I don’t want to leave,” He lifted a hand to Henry’s face. “You’re my son, and I love you, Henry. Whether I stay or go, never forget that. I’d have been here for you, all these years, if I could have, and I’m not going to leave you now,”

Henry allowed himself to be wrapped into his father’s comforting arms. 

Yes, Neal would stay.


	3. November 3rd: Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry's inquiry leads to a life lesson for Neal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from lilredsoupbowl on tumblr: Henry asks Neal if people who hurt us can be forgiven. Neal at first thinks it’s about himself and Emma- but turns out to be Henry thinking about Regina and connecting it with Neal and Rumple’s past.

They were walking to the park with ice cream when Henry first had posed the question. 

"Can people who hurt us, before...can they be forgiven? If they aren't doing bad things anymore, can they make up for what they've done?"

Neal knew immediately were the question was going, or at least, he'd thought he had. The visions he'd concocted all those years ago in Vancouver hit him like a freight train. Emma in prison. Emma, face stormy and dark. Emma, tear tracks running down her cheeks. Emma alone.He'd hurt her, badly, and she hadn't quite forgiven him yet, but...some days he didn't feel worthy of her forgiveness, and other days he convinced himself that August was entirely at fault. 

But it was no matter. Neal approached his son's question carefully.

"I think that the power to forgive lies in the hands of the person who was hurt. All anyone can do is try and be the best they can. Even if they aren't forgiven, Henry, that doesn't mean they can stop trying to earn forgiveness. But it also depends on how bad the hurt was. Sometimes they might never be able to earn forgiveness, but they may be given it anyways," It was a roundabout answer and Neal could see in Henry's eyes that he knew it. Unsatisfied, Henry humphed, and Neal reconsidered his answer. "I think, generally, that people should always strive to forgive. But it can be hard. Look at me and my Pop. I don't want to forgive him some days. What happened between us led to some really terrible things. I don't know if I have really forgiven him yet, but I'm working on it. And I like to think that he's trying, if only for me and Belle. That's maybe the best anyone can do,"

"So I should try and forgive Regina?" the young boy asked, seeking confirmation. Neal did a double take. So they weren't talking about him and Emma. They'd stopped walking by the time Neal finally figured out what he wanted to say. Every word mattered.

"Henry, I think that whatever you decide, you only have yourself and Regina to consider. If you don't want to forgive her, that's your choice, but I think that it makes us bigger people to try. Even if you never manage to, at least you tried. What's most difficult is living with that decision. If you choose to try, then you have to, even if it means you might get hurt again. Loving is more important, Henry. Loving is always more important. The world would be so much better with a little more love in it, and a little less hate,"

"I'm going to try, then. Even if she doesn't always do good. If I don't believe in her, wouldn't that just make it harder for her to try to be better?"

Neal put a hand on Henry's shoulder. "You're so good hearted Henry, don't ever lose that. Let it define your life, but don't let it hurt you either,"

"I won't Dad. Thanks," Henry hugged his father around the middle. "I knew you'd know what to do,"

Neal smiled fondly at his son. His head was tilted up at an angle to see his father without ending the hug. The gaze warmed Neal. "I'm glad I could help, Henry. You can always ask me anything. Don't forget that,"

"I won't. You're my Dad, I'm always going to want to talk with you,"

 _I once thought that too_. Neal thought to himself. Perhaps he could take a lesson from Henry too.


	4. BONUS 5.05 Tag: Remembering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tag to 5.05 Dreamcatcher. Henry and Regina talk about Neal in the wake of Emma's betrayal.

Alone in his room, Henry watched from the window as Emma walked away from the stoop. He furiously closed the curtain, blocking his mother's view as he glared at her. Downstairs, he could hear Regina and Robin talking in low tones. Henry flopped on his bed, sadness, anger and exhaustion from all the emotional output of the day seeped from his bones, dissipating into his mattress and leaving only a dull ache. It was times like that which made Henry wish, more than anything else, that his father was still alive. Neal would have known what to do. Neal would have opened his door and sat quietly with him on the bed, giving him space, waiting for Henry to speak, or seek out comfort. Henry was almost fourteen, but thoughts of his father made him feel like he was eleven again, and desperate for his Dad's attention. He had traipsed around town with his rakish, dashing and enigmatic father, through the park, on the beach, down Main. Neal's arm would be around his shoulder, loving and guiding...

Neal would have known what to do and what to say, because he'd been the son of the Dark One before anyone else. With him gone, no one knew how Henry felt. No one had ever experienced the same thing, been in his situation.

There was a gentle call at the door. He frowned a little. It was his mom, he knew. His dad would have knocked, and entered without saying a word. Henry didn't feel like words.

"Henry, can I come in?" Regina's tone was beseeching. He got up after a moment, and opened the door himself, not uttering a sound, and returned to the bed, brooding. One look at his face, he knew, and his mother would be able to tell.

"Oh Henry,"

The dam burst.

"It isn't fair! If he were here, he'd know! He'd been through it all before! I thought...today in the car...She was so normal almost! But then..."

"Henry who are you...? Oh. Neal," Henry could see the minute things clicked for Regina.

"I just want him back, so bad! I just want him back..." Henry fell into Regina's loving arms, allowing her to comfort him, allowing himself to shed the tears that he'd held back.

"I'm sorry Henry. I'm sorry about Neal. He loved you so much. I know that there are questions you want to ask him, and time you had taken from you. But nothing and no one can replace that. I know. I'm sorry, Henry, so sorry,"

He pulled back from her, drying his eyes with the back of his hand. "It isn't your fault mom,"

"Doesn't mean I can't feel sorry," She brushed away the excess wetness on his cheek. "When you hurt, I do too, Henry," They took a moment more, just sitting together before Henry continued.

"We talked about him today, Emma and I,"

"Oh yeah?"

"About one of his favourite songs. I thought maybe it helped but I think it just gave her ideas. What if Emma uses Dad against me like she used Violet?" The sudden thought brought a shock of fear to his eyes.

Regina looked thoughtful. "I hope that she doesn't. I don't think she will, but we can't rule it out," She smiled sadly. "So...your Dad, huh? All of this is really about Neal, isn't it?"

"I thought I was feeling better about it, but things just keep getting worse all the time, and then I see things that remind me of him and I'm not prepared and it all piles up. And it hurts all over again,"

Regina took his hand. "I'm not very good at this Henry. Mourning. My tendencies took on a ...vengeful turn. Maybe we can work on remembering Neal in some way. Something to keep his memory with you and help you cope. What do you think?" Henry perked up at the thought.

"Like a journal or something?" The idea appealed to him, but as he thought about it, another detail occurred to him. "Wait! I don't even know what we did with all of his stuff!" Immediately, Henry felt worse once more. They'd forgotten about him. One disaster after another and they hadn't even packed away Neal's things.

The former Evil Queen blinked. "I hadn't thought about it. I suppose a lot of it would still be in his old room at Granny's. And there's his place in New York too,"

"I think we should check Granny's. Grandpa Gold would probably want some of Dad's stuff too, once we find him, that is,"

"We'll go there Henry, I promise. And any time you think about him and you want to, you can always share it with me,"

"Thanks Mom. I only knew him a short time. I don't want to lose him by forgetting,"

"You won't Henry. We'll make sure of it,"

When Regina left a while later, Henry was still melancholy, but in better spirits. Filled with a sudden surge of determination, he shuffled through the contents of his desk till he found an empty notebook. He opened it to the first page. If he couldn't have his father with him, he would remember him by doing what he did best...

  
_"Man's struggle against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting"_  
_-Milan Kundera_

 _My father told me that once, when he was alive. He told me that forgetting gives people power over you, and that the only way to keep them from controlling you, to keep yourself free of their power is to remember. It is my father I fear forgetting._ _He was given the name Baelfire, but his name was Neal Cassidy. He was born over three hundred years ago in a place called the Frontlands in a realm we call the Enchanted Forest..._

...Write.


	5. November 4th: The Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry makes Neal a very special present.

Henry fairly ran down the stairs to meet his Dad. It was his Dad at the door. It had to be! No one else rang the bell. They knocked, barged in, or had a key. Dad used the bell. The package in Henry's arms was precious to him, and he held it close to his chest, opening the door with one hand.

"Hey Dad!" the boy gave him a toothy grin, and Neal smiled back.

"Hey Kid, what've you got there?" He asked, pointing to the wrapped package as he closed the door behind him, unraveling the soft blue scarf from around his neck.

"Oh, just a present for you. That's all," Henry tripped slowly around the room hardly unable to contain his excitement.

"A present, huh? Well, I wouldn't want to...open it would I?!" Neal reached out, and Henry made a break for it, father chasing son around the kitchen table. Neal caught Henry up around the waist, and hoisted him up. It was only a short walk to the couch where the boy was uncerimoniously dumped. Neal landed beside him. They laughed, breathless, for a moment.

"So, are you gonna open it or what?" Henry passed him the present.

"You bet I am! Let's see. You want me to take my time or should I tear it?" Neal asked playfully.

"Nicely please," Henry answered. "This is special,"

Slowly and carefully, Neal unwrapped the package to reveal a photo album. Pictures of Henry at all ages covered the pages. Towards the end, some photos contained Emma in them as well. The last few, Neal discovered were blank, as was the slip in the cover.

"I wanted to save some for you and me. And I thought maybe we could get a picture, all three of us. You, me and Emma, for the cover. I wanted you to have something so you wouldn't feel like you missed so much,"

Neal's smile was marred by tears.

"Thank you, Henry, it's beautiful. It's beautiful,"

They sat together for hours, Henry telling the stories behind each photo. And with each, Neal felt a little more like the father he wanted to be.


	6. November 5th: Scheming Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry has big plans for the future, but testing the waters is always the first step to putting a plan in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from lilredsoupbowl on tumblr: Henry drops the hint about his future plans for a castle in the EF with himself, Neal, and Emma to Neal. Mainly to study Neal’s reaction before Emma’s… Cause Henry’s sneaky like that.

They were in Neal's room at Granny's, grabbing a warmer coat for Neal and a spare scarf for Henry when the boy decided to ask the question. It had been a long time in coming, but finding an ideal opportunity to proceed had been difficult. He tried to make it come across as nonchalant, but it was a hard thing to accomplish when one's parents were finally in the same place and speaking to one another, for the first time in eleven years.

"Dad, what do you think of a Castle? Back where we're all from. A Castle for you, me, and Emma?"

"A Castle? Bud, I don't think we're going back to the Enchanted Forest," Neither Neal nor Henry knew about the magic bean crop, and so the statement went vaguely ignored by Henry in favour of the information which wasn't acknowledged. "Besides, I'm just the son of a spinner Henry. I don't think I can afford to buy a Castle, much less build one. You might have to pitch in your allowance," The joke sent Henry into a fit of giggles. After he recovered, he watched his dad search around the room for a scarf, contemplating his next move. Asking Neal was only the precursor to asking Emma the same question. Henry had figured his Dad would be an easier target, and so far, he hadn't been too off the mark.

"But you wouldn't mind it?" Henry prodded. "Living with me and Emma?"

"Of course I wouldn't mind living with you, Henry, but it isn't up to me," His Dad pulled a scarf from the luggage. "Here you go kiddo, now let's get out to those stables you keep telling me about,"

That was the end of the conversation. They kept talking as they walked, but already on a different subject. Future possible step-mom in the picture or not, Henry's Dad was keeping mum on how he felt about his former flame. Henry's mind whirred along, only half listening to Neal ramble something about the quality of bagels in town. He was much more preoccupied with scheming up ways to make his parents all in love all over again.

Operation Swan.


	7. November 7th: Slice of the Past, Piece of the Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal and Henry bake a pumpkin pie together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not sure where the whole 'Neal loves pumpkin pie' thing started, or who started it for that matter, but it's my favourite pie, and I wanted to include that fanon tidbit. The pie recipe is from the back of a Libby's Pumpkin Can. The process for making the crust is what I was taught by my own mother. She's a fabulous cook and baker. Thanks, Mom.

"Alright Henry, can you grab me the evaporated milk please?" Neal was engrossed, finger running down the list of ingredients, muttering to himself. "Three fourths cup granulated sugar, check, one teaspoon ground cinnamon, check, half teaspoon salt, check, half teaspoon ground ginger, check, one fourth teaspoon ground cloves, check, two large eggs... I'll get those...One can pumpkin, of course, and yep, just the milk please Henry,"

"The Carnation one?" The boy called over his shoulder to his Dad. 

"Yep and make sure it's evaporated and not condensed," Henry obeyed his father, but wrinkled his brow.

"What's the difference?"

The refrigerator door swung shut, and Neal produced two eggs, laying them gently on the counter. "Condensed Milk has added sugar. We've got exactly what we need in that can," Neal smiled indulgently at Henry. "You want to open that up, we're going to need it in a second," He turned his attention back to the recipe. "Mix sugar, cinnamon, salt, ginger and cloves in small bowl. Beat eggs in large bowl. Stir in pumpkin and sugar-spice mixture. Gradually stir in evaporated milk," He turned once more to Henry, who had set the evaporated milk, now open, to the side. "Ready?" 

Henry and Neal worked as a team, adding ingredients to the large mixing bowl one by one. Neal did the first egg, showing Henry the gentle technique, Henry copying, though with lesser results, with the second egg. The boy watched, enraptured, as Neal whisked away at the mixture, beating the eggs with a fork. "Now the pumpkin. Scoop it all in there, Kiddo,"

Henry responded enthusiastically, scooping the pleasant orange substance into the bowl, making sure he'd gotten everything he possibly could. "It smells really neat, doesn't it? The pumpkin I mean. Clean and cool," 

"And mixed with all the spice, it'll be warm and earthy. That's the magic of a good pumpkin pie," Neal added. "Last ingredient, Henry, before I make the crust. We have to stir in the milk. Can you pour it in a little at a time for me, while I mix it all together?"

"Sure thing!"

The mixture came together from lumpy clumps in the bowl to a smooth consistency, with Henry pouring at an even rate to Neal's mixing. When the milk was poured out, Neal gave a couple last spins of the bowl and declared it time to begin the crust. He gathered ingredients, speaking to Henry the whole time. 

"When I was younger, we didn't eat bread unless we made it ourselves. Bread was hard to make so most of the time we stuck with what you're probably call biscuits. We also made pies. The dough is similar enough between the two, but it's a delicate balance, Henry. You have to have just the right amount of water. A couple drops will do, mixed with the flour, salt and shortening, and you've got dough. Too much water, and it won't form right, too little and you get the same thing,"

"But how do you know?" Henry asked. "If it's such a particular amount, why can't you use the same amount every time?"

"That's the trick. It depends on the temperature, and the humidity. If it's warmer, you might need less, cooler, more,"

Henry's nose wrinkled. "That's complicated. I'm not really sure how Regina used to do the crust for her turnovers,"

Neal smiled at Henry, mischief in his winking eyes. "Well, that's a different recipe all together, Henry,"

They both fell silent when the correct ingredients were in the bowl, and Neal went to the sink to drip in the integral amount of water, Henry watching, counting. Six drops in and Neal stopped, using a fork to mix the meager liquid in. He nodded a bit, seemingly satisfied, and put the bowl down, taking to the mixture with his fingers, rubbing it between their tips to get rid of all the shortening clumps. Before long, the dough began to actually look like dough, much to Henry's excitement. 

He watched as his father moved it between his hands, deftly. It was as if he were watching the skill return, piece by piece, to Neal's hands. When he had an oval of dough, Neal laid it out on the board, and took the floured rolling pin to it, evenly spreading it across the space. 

Things came together quickly after that, Henry giving the filling a couple last mixes before pouring it atop the crust, laid out perfectly inside the pie tin, edges pinched just so by Neal's nimble fingers. 

"It looks perfect," Henry said, appreciatively. "I've never had pumpkin pie when it wasn't Thanksgiving before,"

"Well, In my opinion, it's always an occasion for pumpkin pie," Neal winked, closing the oven door on the heavenly sight. 

"Dad?" Henry ask, leaning into his father's side. 

"Yeah, Henry?"

"Thanks,"

There wasn't a need for words to explain the sentiment. Neal understood perfectly. 

"Anytime, Henry. Anytime,"


	8. November 8th: Swings and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal and Henry share an activity, and it turns nostalgic for Neal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from supertsundere on tumblr: Neal and Henry go on swings  
> drabble length

The swingset, while just a normal swingset, sent Neal back to the day he'd first met Henry's mom. Emma had been stunning under the carnival lights. In contrast, Henry's jubilant face as he jumped from a particularly high swing, was soft in the afternoon light.

His son. 

Neal had spent many a day studying Henry's features, looking for himself there, searching out Emma. It hadn't been hard to divine his younger self from Henry, in the eyes, and the fall of his hair, and he most certainly bore both his parents personalities, stubborn and determined, good and true. 

Henry had climbed back on the swing; beside him, Neal rose higher and higher as well, their laughter pealing through the air. 

Some things could never be replicated. This afternoon would be one of them.


	9. November 9th: Onlooker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An onlooker watches Neal and Henry bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: Neal and Henry go bowling.

Henry had never been bowling before. Neal apparently, was an expert. Emma didn't have an explanation as to why. He'd never bowled when they knew each other. But then, there were many things that they hadn't been able to afford, and so many things with which Neal (now she understood) hadn't been familiar. Bowling was one of them.

She'd agreed to go along on the condition that she didn't have to participate. Watching the two of them together was...strange, freaky, surreal. Yes, surreal was the word she was looking for.

Her son and his father, together, laughing and smiling, sending harmless taunts back and forth, cheering eachother on.   
It was a supremely normal sight and it sent strange sensations to Emma's core. Neal and Henry had the same eyes, a similar demeanor, same unruly hair, the same boundless faith.

Inside her, Emma felt her stomach plummet.

She could have had this, once, she knew.

It could have been theirs.

If only.

Once Upon a Time.


	10. November 10th: Serious Contemplations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry ponders his father's life, and all the things he doesn't know about. Neal is uncharacteristically solemn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: Neal and Henry go horseback riding.

Henry watched as his father galloped ahead. Much to his surprise, Henry had found that Neal was very talented on a horse. Almost well enough, he thought, to rival his gramps. The display caught him off guard. When had Neal learned to ride horses so well? There was so much that Henry didn't know about his father, when he really thought about it, and it bothered him. How would he ever know all the questions to ask him? How would Henry be able to learn all 300+ years of his father's life?

So much of it, he knew, Neal might never be willing to share. There was something there that his Dad was definitely not going to want to talk about at all, and it worried him. Today was supposed to be another fun outing, and Neal certainly always did his best to keep their time spent together as lighthearted as possible. Henry could tell that Neal was trying to spare him. That much was obvious. But he didn't feel the need to be spared. Henry urged his mount after his father.

He caught up to his father's slowed gait, bringing their horses neck and neck. "Wow, Dad! You're really good at riding! Where'd you learn that?" He asked. There was a curiously serious look in Neal's eye.

"I didn't used to know. I learned, Henry. I had to learn a lot of things over the years,"

"But where'd you learn to ride? In-"

"Home. At home. I rode sometimes, when your Grandfather and I moved for the first time, away from the village where I grew up. I had a horse of my own. Papa wanted me to have everything. _Everything_. _You will want for nothing, my boy._ That's how he used to talk. That everything he did was for me," He paused, glancing at Henry. The two were trotting along at an even pace. "Sometimes, I think I understand. You put things in perspective for me, Henry," The boy nodded at his father, thinking deeply. He tried to imagine his father as a teenager.

"What did you look like, Dad, when you were my age?"

"I was a little taller than you, and my hair was longer. Very dark. You can't tell now, of course, you're sending me grey, kiddo!" Neal joked, trying to mellow the gravity of their conversation. His smile waned. "I never had the brightness in your eyes, Henry. I'm glad you grew up wanting for nothing,"

There was a dull look to Neal's gaze, and Henry felt the unfairness of it all welling in his chest. They rode on in silence, both being uncharicataristically serious. His father was lost, deep in memory, and Henry contented himself to the company. Just having Neal with him was better than not having him at all.


	11. November 11th: Call of the Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal give Henry some lessons on Nature and survival, and Henry tries his hand at getting his Mom and Dad to spend some quality time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: Neal and Henry go hiking.

Henry had been at home with his grandparents when Neal knocked at the door, staff at hand, bundled up well. 

"Ready to go, kiddo?" He asked brightly, huffing a little and the residual chill. 

"You bet!" The second staff found it's way to Henry's hands, after Snow had thoroughly wrapped him in his scarf, and handed him his gloves.

"So, hiking! Why hiking?" He asked his father.

"Because it's fun! I always used to walk through the woods, but then it was work and necessary, but afterwords, we can go get some pie and a nice hot chocolate from Granny's to warm us up. So we're going to have fun and I'm going to tell you all about the trees, if you're interested,"

"Yeah!"

The hike itself was more fun that the lesson on the vegetation of Maine, but Henry was happy enough to listen to Neal tell him about the shape of the leaves and which bark he could cook into a edible jerky like consistency. Those skills, Henry figured, his father had picked up back in the old land, and they had a laugh about the taste. The face Neal made when Henry asked would be emblazoned on his memory forever. A good memory, to file away for a bad day.

They continued walking on, staffs leaving gentle indents in the ground, long after Neal had ceased his nature lesson. 

"Hey Dad?" 

"Yeah, Kiddo?"

"We should go camping sometime. You me and Mom," Henry couldn't resist sneaking the suggestion in, and he could sense his father's disquiet. "It'd be a lot of fun, I think. Between you and Mom, I think I'll know all there is to know about 'roughing it'. That's what Gramps calls it,"

"Someday, Henry. I'll teach you everything you want to know and more. I promise you that," Henry looked up at his father, hopeful.

"So we can go camping?"

Neal sighed, bemusedly exasperated. "We'll see," He stated. Which of course, Henry knew, meant yes.


	12. November 12th: Food and Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal isn't fond of diners, but dinner out with Henry at Granny's just might change his mind. Henry discovers some things about his dad's surprisingly mundane New York life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: Neal and Henry go out to eat.

Neal had never quite felt comfortable in Granny's diner, but it was the place to go, so, when Henry had asked if they could go out to eat, there wasn't a choice. The diner was small, reminiscent of the places that he and Emma had avoided like the plague, unless they had a little cash on hand. Small diners had regulars and were prominent in small towns. Diner's remembered you, and he and Emma had never wanted to be remembered. Even after he'd gone straight, after he'd put his life in order, he hadn't liked them. He felt exposed, scrutinized, when all he wanted was to blend into the background.  
New York City was his personal haven. Everyone was just another New Yorker, each individuals and generally more unique than in random Hicksville across the country, yet all part of the rush. New York was busy and acculturated and the perfect place for someone who didn't want to be remembered. In New York, everyone was a hazy memory of that one novel that he'd read five years ago, everyone was that person you'd bumped into once on the subway. It didn't matter. He hadn't mattered.

Neal breathed in the aroma of his coffee while he waited for Henry. He son had said he would arrive after school let out for an early dinner, so Neal had found himself a nice table at which to nurse the blackest cup of joe he could get. Ruby had been happy to accommodate him.

"Hey Dad!" Henry called, breezing through the doorway, backpack already half removed before he even reached the booth.

"How was school, Henry?" Neal inquired as Henry through his arms around his neck.

"Great! We did stuff, I learned things," The boy shrugged. Neal raised a brow at him.

"Very funny," Henry slid into the booth across from his father, pushing his backpack against the wall. Henry lent forward, trying to scope a look at the liquid in his dad's mug.

"That's not hot chocolate,"

"Nope, you get that quirk from your mom. I'm a coffee drinker,"

Henry scrunched his nose up at the sight. "It's really black. Gross. Regina drinks it that way too," 

"It smells a hell of a lot better than it tastes some days, I'll admit," Neal shrugged. "But when the nights get late and I've still got work to finish, there's nothing like it," A throat cleared next to them.

"Hey Ruby!" Henry smiled brightly. "Dad and I are here for dinner!" He turned to Neal. "I'm going to order for you, because I know all the best stuff here," Ruby and Neal chuckled in tandem. "We'll both have the cheeseburger and the curly fries. Can I have pickles please?"

"Sure can. I'll bring them right out. Anything else?" Ruby laid fond eyes on the boy.

"Pie, if you have any," Neal added. "Apple or pumpkin,"

Ruby nodded and left, jotting down their order as she went.

Henry eyed his dad, and picked up from where they had left off. "So work, huh? What kind? What did you do in New York?"

Neal leaned back against the booth. "Well, I've done a lot of things over the years. I've been working mostly as an accountant at a Lawfirm. I do other stuff too,"

"What sort of things?" Henry queried, curious.

"Oh, I teach an art class here and there. Sometimes I sub at a boys and girls home for the math teacher,"

Henry's eyes lit up at the extra information. "You can draw?! That's awesome!" He frowned a little. "I don't think I got that talent from you," Neal laughed, his eyes smiling at Henry's proclamation.

"You never know. You might have. It just isn't developed yet. You won't know until you try,"

The food arrived shortly thereafter, and between satisfied mouthfuls of food, the conversation continued.  Maybe, Neal admitted to himself, he'd have to rethink his position on diners. Specifically ones were his son sat across from him, grinning.


	13. November 13th: The Benefits of Film References

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Henry's family movie night turns into a purely father/son affair, he's initially disappointed. But Emma reaction to the night's choice of movie proves the next day to have made it worth her missing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from lita, here on AO3: Henry asks Neal to watch movies with him. The movie choice is up to you.  
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/lita/

While Movie Night had been intended for the whole family, Henry guessed he would be content with just his dad. He wouldn't have minded so much if just Gram and Gramps couldn't have made it, but then Emma backed out too, so it was just Henry and Neal on the couch at the apartment.

"I brought a movie, just like you asked," He smiled weakly at his son. "I'm sorry the others couldn't make it, Henry,"

His son shrugged a little, snuggling deeper into the couch. "It's alright. I just get to spend more time with you especially. And that isn't a bad thing. I just wish Mom could have been here too. It would have been nice," He returned his father's smile. "So what movie did you bring?"

"It's a surprise, Henry," He knelt at the DVD player, hiding the case from his son. When the film was queued, he plopped down on the couch next to the tween.

The movie, much to Henry's delight, was _The Princess Bride_ , something about which he had heard but never before seen.

"I wish Emma would've stayed," He said after the ROUS were defeated and their mutual laughter had died down. "I think she would have liked this, but I bet she'd have pretended not to," At that, Neal let out a bark of laughter.

"You sure got your Mom pegged, kiddo. She loves this movie, but she'll never admit it,"

Towards the end of the film, Henry felt himself begin to doze, eyes drooping shut as he leaned into his father's side, warm and safe. When next he opened his eyes, Henry realized, it was morning and he was in his own bed. The voices downstairs were subdued, but he made out his parent and grandparents chatting. Henry crept to the door, careful to avoid the creaks.

"-pretty tuckered out. I don't think he made it to the end. You missed a good movie, Snow, David,"

"Oh? What'd you watch?" That was Emma's voice.

"A favourite of yours," His Dad hedged. "You'll figure it out,"

"Hmmph," Henry imagined his mom's skeptical look, secretly unbearably curious about their film choice.

The conversation went one, but Henry wasn't ready to announce his presence yet.

"So you don't mind checking with him? We thought it'd probably go over best if you asked, seeing as Gold is your father," Emma stated. There was a brief pause, before Henry caught Neal's soft reply. 

"As you wish,"

Emma made a strangled sound.

"Hunny are you alright? Did you choke on the hot chocolate? Is it too hot" Henry heard Mary Margret's concerned tone, but he already knew what had happened. His smile grew.

"I'm fine mom. Just went down the wrong tube," Emma reached for an excuse.

Neal had been right. Emma had figured it out, and Henry mentally cheered before deciding to finally make his way downstairs for breakfast. Maybe there was hope for his parents after all.

_"That day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying "As you wish", what he meant was, "I love you." And even more amazing was the day she realized she truly loved him back."_

_-The Princess Bride, 1987_


	14. November 14th: Blueberries are like People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Father and Son make surprise dinner for the rest of the Charming familiy, Neal and Emma reminisce, much to Henry, Snow and David's confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: Neal and Henry make Pancakes for Emma and her Parents

When Snow bundled home with David and Emma that night, she wasn’t expecting the apartment to be warm and inviting. No one was even supposed to be home. The aroma of dinner wafted over her and her family as they removed their coats, looking at each other with general curiosity. Emma broke into a small smile. 

“Oh,” David and Snow cocked their heads at her utterance. 

“What?” They asked in unison. Emma put a finger to her lips, and pointed around the corner. Snow craned for a better look, and was greeted by the sight of Neal and Henry, both covered in flour, making pancakes.

“Alright Henry, pass me the blueberries,” Neal’s gaze didn’t stray from his task at hand, stretching out his arm for the appropriate dish. Henry watched as Neal proceeded to dump the whole container into the mixture. 

“Dad, are you sure that’s enough?” The snark dripped from his words. Neal only snorted in response. 

“Can’t ever have too many blueberries, Henry. Don’t ever forget that. Blueberries contain the answer to every human problem," Neal finished with a flourish. Henry looked at him archily, in disbelief. 

"Are you sure about that?"

"I've been sure about a handful of things in my lifetime, Henry, and the power of blueberries is one of them,"

From around the corner, Emma smiled widely. _Sotto voce_ she whispered. 

"Neal's got this thing for blueberries. Don't ask, but it made us 20 dollars once. You'd never believe me," The memory floated over her, and her eyes gleamed. "Hi's blueberry pancakes are the best. You'll see," She beckoned her parents to enter the kitchen with her. "Someone's got his chef's hat on, huh?" She announced their presence jauntily. 

"Mom! You're back! Dad and I made dinner!" Henry flew into her arms, covering her in flour. 

"Nothing's better than Neal's blueberry pancakes, you'll see," Emma had dislodged herself from her son, and dipped her finger in the batter saucily. 

"Hey! No snitching!" Neal accused, but there was laughter in his eyes. "Remember what I told you?"

"I never forgot," She popped her finger in her mouth, and licked off the sweet batter. "Blueberries are the people fruit. Blueberries tell us everything we need to know about people. If you can understand a blueberry, you can understand a person," She recited like a school child. His glee was now wholly evident, and the rest of the room thoroughly confused. 

"You remembered!" For a brief moment, Snow thought that the two might kiss, they were so close to one another. But the encounter ended in giggles. 

"You're weird," Henry stuck his tongue out. 

"I'll say," David finally spoke. "But it does smell good and I am hungry. So I'm just going to get the table set and pretend I understood any of that," Emma regarded her confused family. It looked as though she was going to explain, but instead thought better of it. 

Snow spent the evening not dwelling on the meaning behind the blueberries, but instead observing the happy little family, Henry positively glowing, basking in the attentions of his parents. And all professed that Neal's pancakes were indeed the best they had ever tasted, and that he'd give Granny a run for her money. 

They'd cleaned up and Neal was getting ready to leave. Henry had gone to the door to say goodbye, and Snow watched the surreptitiously from the corner of her eye. 

"Goodnight, buddy," Neal knelt to hug his son tightly. "I love you,"

"I love you too, Dad. Thanks,"

"For what?"

"Being happy. Thanks for being happy. When you're happy, I'm happy, and I'm happy when you make Emma happy too. I still think-"

"Henry, we talked about this," Neal sighed heavily, running his hand through his hair. 

"I know," The boy looked at the ground, sheepish. "I won't tell her,"

"What?"

"That you still love her. I think she'll figure it out on her own. But she'll need some help admitting that she loves you too," Henry concluded firmly. Neal only shook his head. 

"Alright kiddo. Sleep well. I'll be around to pick you up for school in the morning, okay?"

A hug later, Neal whirled out into the night, and Snow smiled at the secret she and Henry now kept.


	15. November 15th: Hidden Talent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry searches out his father and discovers that Neal has a hidden talent that no one knows about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: Henry discovers that Neal can art real well

Henry hadn't often had to go around to Granny's to find his Dad, but today was different. He'd been in school until two, and then they'd had assembly and been sent home at three - twenty minutes early. Emma was still at the sheriff's office, so his Dad was the next stop on the list. 

_His Dad._

Henry smiled at how the simple thought was really so profound. He had never thought to have the opportunity to get to know his father, especially after what Emma told him at the onset. Some days, Henry was sure that meeting Neal was the best thing that had happened to him. Even trumping Emma, because it was Neal who brought everyone together. Neal and Henry. The two final pieces of the weird family tree. 

"Hey, Ruby!" Henry called, bouncing on his heels. 

"Hello Henry! What're you up to?" The werewolf asked curiously. 

"Lookin' for my Dad," He spied around the diner. "Have you seen him?" The waitress nodded. 

"He left for the part about twenty minutes ago. Took a coffee to go. It seemed like he was in it for the long haul, so you should be able to find him there still," She wiped down the counter with a flick of her wrist. "Want a hot chocolate, extra cinnamon, before you go?"

"Sure do!" He smiled, digging into his pocket for the change. 

In minutes, he was on his way, humming to himself. As the park came into view, he started to look for his father. Neal had his back to Henry, seated at the picnic bench. Huddled in deep concentration, Henry was easily able to sneak up behind him, and peer unnoticed at Neal. His father had a charcoal pencil in hand, drawing on parchment paper what appeared to be...

"That's me!" The exclamation flew from Henry's mouth before he hand the chance to stop himself, startling the prodigious artist from his work. 

"Henry!" Neal bit back what Henry was sure had been meant as a cuss. "You really startled me kiddo," His eyes found the Styrofoam up his son held. "Ruby tell you where I was?" 

"Yeah. Sorry I scared you Dad. That's me though, right?"

"It is," Neal took the pencil once more at hand. 

"It looks just like me. You're really good at this! Where'd you learn?" Henry seated himself on the bench beside Neal, peering more closely at the work. 

"I didn't. It's an inherited talent. My mother was an accomplished artist," His father's tone was clipped. "She drew a portrait of me once. I think Pop still has it. It was the only thing she left behind when she took off,"

"Oh," Henry's face fell. He knew very little about his paternal grandmother. In fact, he knew nothing other than that she was dead. "What was my grandmother's name?"

"Milah. Her name was Milah," Henry didn't press his father for more information, choosing instead to change the subject. 

"You should do a self portrait. Or one of Emma,"

"I've drawn your mom before, actually," A pleasant breeze wafted through the air, and Neal breathed deeply. "She doesn't know that though. It's one of her from the year or so before you were born. Glasses and ponytail all,"

"Mom wears glasses?" The boy was thoroughly perplexed at the thought. "I can't imagine that,"

Neal chuckled, shuffling through the folder that lay at his side. 

"You don't have to. This is it," He passed the sheaf over to his son, who gazed on in awe. 

"Woah. That's mom!" Henry marveled at the lifelike rendering of his mother, tracing the air above the page, careful not to touch and smudge the charcoal. "She really looked like that?"

"More beautiful Henry, and so full of life," Henry didn't miss the fond look in his dad's eyes. "If you want to keep this, you're more than welcome to kid," Neal ruffled his son's hair, scrutinized him for a moment. "Hmm," He bit the nail of his thumb. "You're got my nose. I'll have to adjust that a little," Neal muttered as he returned to his work.

Henry lifted the drawing reverently; it was a precious gift. 

"Thanks, Dad. But you still have to do a self portrait! Can I have that one too? So I have a drawing of both of you?"

Neal smiled indulgently. "Sure thing, kiddo, sure thing,"


	16. November 16th: Best Left in the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry asks Neal questions about his past, but Neal isn't ready to bring the truth of his early life down on his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from lilredsoupbowl: For angst - maybe Neal explaining his past to Henry. We never got anything like that and it’s such a pity!

Not every day they spent together was spent careless and happy. Henry's question fell in Neal's stomach like a rock, heavy and uncomfortable. 

 _How did you grow up Dad?_ He'd asked. It was a week after they had gone horseback riding, and it was clear that even twelve year old could pick up on things they weren't meant to, things they were never meant to understand.

"Dad," Henry pressed. They were sat under a tree, picnic spread out before them, the sandwiches half eaten. Neal's expression darkened, and he frowned.

"Let's not talk about it now, Henry," The memories that plagued him were brimming in his mind, and he pushed away at them with thoughts of his son's smiling face. But only serious brown eyes looked back at him.

"Tell me one thing. Anything. I just want to know you, Dad. I know about Mom, a bit, and I want to know you," The boy was all the most stubborn parts of himself, of Emma, and all the most hopeful, optimistic parts of their youth. All of it had gone into his life, Neal could see now. If loosing his own happiness was the price to ensure Emma and Henry's then he would gladly give it, over and over again. Self sacrifice was in his nature, learned during his most crucial years a a boy when his father would give him the last crust of bread, when all the money went to clothing him, feeding him, leaving nothing for his father.

More than anything, Neal wanted for Henry never to know that pain, that suffering.

"No Henry, I-"

"I can take it Dad! I can take anything. I know that things must have been bad. I mean...well, your dad is Rumplestiltskin,"

"He wasn't always like this, Henry. When I was small, he wasn't the Dark One. People don't really know that though, I suppose,"

"Where were you from?" Henry's bright inquisitive eyes caught his father's and Neal couldn't resist.

"A region called the Frontlands. It doesn't exist anymore, from what I understand, talking with my father, however briefly. We lived in a little village. It didn't have a name that I can remember, and if it ever did have a name, it's been lost to my Pop's memory, and rests with the dead. We lived on land that was under the power of a noble man, a Duke. He had a name too, but I can't remember that either. I lived there from the day I was born until fourteen, maybe fifteen,"

"What did you do? What was your house like," The questions streamed from his mouth.

"We were spinners," Henry's eyes lit up at Neal's words.

"Like in the story! That's where it comes from in this world! That Mr. Gold can spin straw!"

"Yes," Neal confirmed, hoping Henry would cease with his barrage. But he did not.

"So...are you going to answer my other question?"

"Henry, I agreed to one question and you asked two," Neal tried to bargain. Henry was obviously dissatisfied, but he didn't prompt the same inquiry again. Instead...

"What...what's so bad that you won't talk about it? What don't you want me to know?"

"I didn't grow up like you did, Henry," Neal began. "Life wasn't easy at the best of times. You've been to school, Henry. What did you learn about the middle ages?"

"Well, there were Kings and Queens, knights, nobles, peasants, wars. Stuff like that,"

"This world wasn't so different from our own, once. Those who had something had everything. Those had nothing were dirt. There was no such thing the middle class then, Henry," Neal paused, watching as Henry made sense of his words. 

"You were peasants," There was no emotion behind the statement. It was just that. A statement. 

"Yes," Neal confirmed. "We were. I've never lived an easy life, Henry. These past six years or so have been the easiest of my life. Being a normal middle class person...that's the best I've ever had it, Henry. Even when I was a peasant, I wasn't homeless, and I've been that too, more than once. And even that isn't the worst thing I've lived through. I don't want that for you, Henry. I don't want you to even have to think about it," The frustration in Neal's voice was evident. Henry blinked purposefully.

"I understand. I think you're the bravest person I know, Dad,"

"Do you?"

"Yeah," Henry moved closer to Neal, giving him a quick hug. "I appreciate that you want the best for me, but I'm glad to know where I come from. You made your own future, decided your own fate. And then you went and got it, whatever it was. And that's bravery,"

"I'll take your word for it, Henry. I'm flattered you think so," Neal didn't sound convinced.

"I guess I'll just have to believe it enough for both of us then," Henry countered.

"Perhaps," Neal smiled fondly at his boy. "Perhaps,"


	17. November 17th: The Rain in Maine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal's attempt at a traditional father son outing fails miserably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from my boyfriend: Neal and Henry try to fish and fail the end.

The were both miserable. Neal was miserable. Henry was miserable. The fish, Neal was sure, were also utterly miserable. What better father son activity, he'd thought, than going fishing? How hard could it be? Of course, the day had started out sunny. So by the time the boat was far enough out, it was raining. The worms were gross to touch, the bay smelt and they were soaking wet. Neal had no idea how to fish, if he were being honest, and that only added to the abject disaster that was their day out.

They hadn't caught a single fish, though they had braved the rain for three hours. 

"Dad, I know I'm usually the um, what'd you call me?" Henry began. 

"Eternal optimist,"

"Right. I know you called me the eternal optimist, but I think we should just go home," 

Neal looked at Henry. Henry looked at Neal. There was water dripping from Henry's hair into his eyes, causing him to blink every few seconds. He was wearing a look of dejection, and a worm wriggled helplessly in his hand. 

It was all too much. Before he could contain himself, Neal had begun to laugh. Henry looked on at his father, giving off the appearance of a mildly concerned adult. 

"Are you okay, Dad? What's so funny?"

"This is an utter disaster!" He grinned, looking up at the sky, allowing the rain to pelt him directly. "I conceed defeat!" He shouted to the heavens, chuckling. Henry watched on quizzically, but a smile was growing on his face. "Let's go home, kiddo,"

"Finally! We can buy a fish at the market and tell Mom we caught it. She won't know the difference,"

Neal only shook his head as he revved up their engine, returning them to shore.


	18. November 18th: Should Have, Could Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma can't help but see Tallahassee when she watches them together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from my boyfriend: Neal and Henry kill a man (i.e play clue)

"So, what did the two of you do today?" Emma asked. It was strange how easily Neal had worked his way back into her life. She forgot to feel awkward around him sometimes, but then again, he had always been an easy presence, charm in his smile and kindness in his eyes. Father and Son looked at each other conspiratorially. Emma wasn't so sure she was going to like what she heard next. 

"Oh you know, made lunch, washed the dishes, played some cards, killed a man. The usual," Henry uttered with utmost sincerity and innocence. Emma gave them a skeptical look. 

"You killed a man?" She asked. 

"Uh huh," Henry smiled, nodding his head. Neal placed his hands on Henry's shoulders. "Our boy's a real creative murderer, Emms," The twinkle in his eye sparked her smile. She'd gotten the hint. 

"Oh ho, and who was it killed Mr. Body this time?" She asked, winking at her son. 

"Hey! How'd you know?" the boy looked between his parents, sending an accusing glance at Neal. "You said she wouldn't guess it!" 

He only shrugged, smiling mysteriously. "I guess I was wrong Henry," he said, sincerity coating his tone. "It was Col. Mustard in the Kitchen with the lead pipe, in case you were wondering,"

"And I was Col. Mustard!" Henry exclaimed. "Hey, maybe we can play another round? Mom, you can join too!"As Henry whirled away, a blur, Neal and Emma shared a private chuckle. 

"You gonna indulge him?" Her ex asked. 

"You bet. I'm gonna beat your ass, Cassidy," Emma challenged, grinning. 

"Not if I beat you first!"

Emma watched from the doorway as Neal helped Henry get the game set up, lost as if in a daydream, what should have been Tallahassee staring her in the face.


	19. November 19th: Books and Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry bonds with Neal over literature and learns something new about Emma in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: Neal and Henry go to the library.

Henry trailed his fingers along the book's spines languidly, touching eacho one as if it were a precious gem. His dark haired father strode behind him in an easy manner, hands stuffed in his pocket, watching both Henry and the books fondly.

"What was the first book you read in this world, Dad?"

"Woah..." Neal exhaled, putting a hand up to stroke at his jaw in thought. "I don't really remember. I read some children's books back when I lived with this one family..."He trailed off. "But the first book I remember picking up in this world was after I'd been put into fostercare," He looked at the signs, then set a course for the section which was labeled Speculative Fiction. "I didn't really understand a lot. I was just getting used to this world. Learning what a TV was, learning how to find that stuff out without asking...reading the right books helped me do that. And this book...well, it helped me formulate a lot of my opinions about the world, and about how any world should and shouldn't work," His eyes lingered over the names, searching for the right one until..."Right here!" Forfinger and thumb plucked the thin volume off the shelf. "Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradnbury. I read it again, later, after I was pretty familiar with this world. It made a lot more sense the second time around,"

Henry smiled, taking the book from Neal's outstretched hands. "What's it about?"

"The importance of knowledge, and books. The power of human will, and the mind," Neal practically recited. "All important things, Henry. I hope you'll read it someday. Not quite yet, but soon,"

"Of course I will! I want a list of all your favourite books so that I can read them!" The tween's excitement was palpable.

"Maybe I'll make up a list by your birthdays. One book to read every year as you get older. You might have to wait a while for On the Road or Cat's Cradle," Neal admitted. "But when that time comes, I hope you'll enjoy them," Taking the book back from Henry, Neal ran his fingers over the cover before replacing it fondly on the shelf. 

"It wish Belle was herself right now. You'd really like her, and you'd have so much to talk about! She's the librarian. She loved books more than anything, except maybe Grandpa Gold,"

"With luck, Henry, Belle and I will be able to discuss a lot of things soon, not just books,"

"But you will talk about books, right?" Henry's concern amused his father.

"I sure will, Tiger. I sure will. Not many people I can get nerdy about literature with around here. Especially not your mom. We always had different tastes in reading material," Neal smiled at the memory.

"What was her favourite?" Neal squinted at Henry, as if making a difficult decision.

"Promise you won't tell her I told you?"

"Cross my heart!"

"Fairy tales. Specificly Hans Christian Anderson. They are some of the few fairy tales out there that don't have happy endings. And she loves them to bits," Neal confided.

"But what's her favourite?" The boy pressed, and his father couldn't resist to answer.

"The Steadfast Tin Soldier," Neal's eyes grew sad, so Henry didn't press it. They looked around a bit, Neal continuing to browse in the section where he'd found Fahrenheit, and Henry wandering into the fiction section. Just as his eyes lit on what he'd been searching for, his Dad called out "Hey, do you think Belle would mind if I took a couple of these for a while?"

"No, Grandpa gave me free reign while she's gone. I'm sure you can too," He replied. Before him on the shelf was a thick tome. A Hans Christian Anderson Compendium. He put it in his bookbag, for later, and returned to his father's side.

* * *

 

It was evening, and Henry sat in his bed, a single tear running down his cheek. Both the Tin Soldier and the Ballerina had perished in the flames. The story that his father claimed Emma so loved was achingly sad, but Henry knew why it was her favourite. The Ballerina was never alone. They had each other. Even when no one and nothing else would love them, they were not alone.

 _By this time the soldier was reduced to a mere lump, and when the maid took away the ashes next morning she found him, in the shape of a small tin heart. All that was left of the dancer was her spangle, and that was burnt as black as a coal._  
_Hans Christian Anderson's The Steadfast Tin Soldier_


	20. November 20th: The Old Dog, the Tramp and the Pup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David joins Neal and Henry in doing some old fashioned, gross, manly bonding time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from lightprinc3ss on tumblr: Neal and Henry fix a faucet

When David returned to the apartment (sans Emma and Snow, who were making a coffee/hot chocolate run) he was shocked to find a pair of legs sticking out from under the kitchen sink. 

"Hey Gramps!" Henry bounded into the kitchen from behind him and made his way towards the sink. "Here you go Dad - the monkey wrench you wanted,"

"Great! Thanks Henry," The voice was muffled, but Henry's grandfather knew it immediatly. So it was Neal under there.

"Hello Neal, What's going on down there?" He asked, bending down to peer into the cabinet.  
The other man slid out from under the counter a ways. "Oh. Hi David. You might want to remind Mary Margret that this sink doesn't have a garbage disposal," Neal pushed back beneath, and made a strangled sound. "Ugh. Dripping water,"

"Gross!" Henry exclaimed. "Is it bad?"

"Nah, not too bad. Hey, hand me that plastic container, would you?" 

Henry did so, gladly, smiling at David who watched on utterly perplexed. "I'm learning about plumbing Gramps! Isn't that neat? Dad know a little bit about everything. He says he's a jack of all trades,"

"Henry, get me the peper towel," Neal sounded urgent. 

"Here, Dad," Henry passed the roll under. 

"Come on down a moment. I want to show you something," So Henry too was lost to David's sight.

"David did you-oh!" Emma and Mary Margret almost bumped into David, who was watching in fascination. "What's going on?" Mary Margret asked. 

"Neal and Henry are fixing the sink," David replied absently. Suddenly Emma groaned. 

"Mary Margret, I told you not to send food down the drain!" From below, Neal and Henry's chuckles echoed. "It's not funny!" Emma retorted. David only shook his head before getting down on his knees. 

"Mind teaching an old dog a new trick?" He asked. 

"Sure. Henry take the U-bend and go wash it out over a bowl in the bathroom. David, come on down here, and I'll show you some of the finer points,"

Emma pulled Mary Margret toward the bathroom sink where Henry was washing out the piping. "See Mom. That," She emphasized the word, "Is what happens when you send food down the drain,"

Snow made a face. 

"Understood,"

Henry rushed the piping back to the kitchen in record time, all the disgusting clogging rinsed away. "Here Dad, it's all clean," Henry handed it over, and crawled back under. 

Emma shook her head at the three pairs of legs sticking out comically at all angles. "Men," It was a strange but pleasant sight, and she resolved never to forget it, for the rest of her life. 


	21. November 21st: From the Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple observes Neal with Henry, and wonders about his son's life. He knows only one thing for certain - his Baelfire has grown into a good man. The best sort of man. A father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from my boyfriend: Neal helps Henry with his homework.

Somehow or another they had ended up in his shop. He wasn't quite sure how or why, but there, off to the side sat his son and grandson. They had pulled up two stools and sat busily at their work on the glass counter. Neal was helping Henry through a math problem, or so it sounded. His son, doing mathematics. 

Sometimes, Rumplestiltskin found it difficult to fathom that his son knew the inner workings of this world, especially since he and the other citizens of Storybrooke remained virtually sheltered from reality. 

"Aright, so remember to carry the three...yeah, yep there you go, see Henry? You've got this," Neal's encouraging tone warmed Rumplestiltskin's heart. 

"Thanks Dad,"

"So, the true test is to see if you can do it again, on your own. Try the next problem. Do as much as you can without me, alright? I'll just watch,"  
Henry buckled down, gripping at his pencil as he thought through the process. Eventually, the led tip hit paper studiously, and before long the problem was completed. 

"Is fourty-two the right answer, Dad?" Henry's question didn't truly register with Rumple as he continued to eavesdrop, but one other detail did stand out.

Over the past month, give or take, he had noticed that Henry used the word 'dad' as frequently as he could. Any instance where Henry could utter the word, whether in speaking to Neal or in conversation elsewhere, he did. Making up for lost time, Rumple supposed. 

"Nice job, Henry. Next one?" 

"Maybe you could help me with my Lit class, now that I've got this down. You don't know anything about Lit, do you?" Henry asked, hopeful. 

"Sure do. I've read a lot of books. Your mom and I spent a lot of time in the library actually..." Neal trailed off. "But that's besides the point, what've you got?"

The afternoon went on, Rumple only listening a little, mainly in effort to try and understand his son better. Who had his Baelfire become? As they exited, their next destination ostensibly Granny's diner, Rumple resigned himself to the fact that Neal might never choose to share the details of the life he had made in this world, that the hints he could pick up ultimately told him nothing about his son's Manhattan life. 

But there was one thing he had gleaned from watching Neal, who day in and day out made his way to the Nolan/Swan apartment to pick up Henry from school, or outings. Neal was an amazing father. 

Rumple knew he had never been the best father, though Neal had once decried that statement. His son did truly believe that he'd been a good father before the curse, Rumple knew. Neal was the father every little boy wished he had, the father every child deserved. One who put their needs first, held their desires and hopes as his own, their achievements as his own proud accomplishments. 

Neal ruffled Henry's hair as they walked out the door, and Henry pushed closer into his father's side, wrapping his arms around him. Neal leaned a bit as the walked, and kissed his son's head.The tenderness of the moment made Rumple feel as though he were intruding, and he looked away, but he couldn't help wondering if others felt the same way, watching father and son together.


	22. November 22nd: Not Far From Andromeda's Gaze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal imparts some private history to Henry, and shares a favourite passtime with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from lilredsoupbowl here on AO3:   
> Neal and Henry stargazing - Neal hinting at the star charts he’d made in Neverland. Admits it’s something he always does to calm himself but a lot more difficult to do in New York.

"Which one's that?" Henry asked, pointing a thin finger up at the sky. They lay on the hood of the bug, which was parked out a the beach, away from the town. 

"Andromeda. She's one of my favourites, actually, beautiful, but with a sad story," Neal shifted, gaze attentive to the map in the sky. "But that's the one from this land. I guess those are the ones that matter, huh?"

"What do you mean, Dad?" Henry rolled onto his side, attention focused on his father. 

"Well, the Enchanted Forest has it's own set of constellations Henry. I know them too. I learned them, long ago, because I knew that no matter where I was, if I knew the stars, I knew a way home, wherever that happened to be. It was a calming thought. I did it out of habit, when I was scared or anxious. Even if I didn't know the land, I knew the stars. When I first came here, I learned them as soon as I could, though I didn't have a home to find. It was comforting all the same,"

"Did you star gaze with Mom?" Rolling onto his back, Henry avoided seeming too invested in the answer to his question. 

"Sure did. I taught her everything I knew. You mom was the only home I had, Henry. Back then, home was eachother," Neal sighed heavily. "She liked Andromeda too,"

Henry smiled at the stars, winking above him, seemingly dancing with happiness at his appraisal. "I'm glad. I like doing things that you and Mom liked to do. It makes me feel..." He trailed off. 

"Closer to us?" His father picked up the train of thought. "I understand. You know, I haven't done this in a really long time, you know,"

"Since you moved to Manhattan?" The boy was astute. 

"You've got it. Can you tell me why?"

"Because of light pollution, right? I was reading about it in one of Belle's books,"

Neal grinned. His son, the great reader. The proud father finally broke contact with the black velvet curtain draped so elegantly above them.  "You've got it. It always bothered me a bit, but I got used to it. There's a planetarium in Central Park, Hayden Planetarium, and I used to go there all the time, just to look and learn. I'll take you there, someday,"

Henry startled at his father's words. It was the first time that he had ever mentioned doing something outside of Storybrooke, but even more shocking was the idea of someday. Neal, Henry knew, still had a life and a job back in Manhattan. Storybrooke was never in his plans.   
Henry had never been in his plans. But now...

"I'd really like that, Dad. I'd really, really like that,"

They lay in companionable silence on the chilled hood metal, oblivious to the passage of time. 

Content.

_"If all the stars were diamonds_   
_In golden skies above_   
_They wouldn't be worth that_   
_Without your love"_

_-If All the World Were Paper, Anon_


	23. November 23rd: Not Quite a Fairy Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal tells Henry a story from his childhood - it isn't all once upon a time and fairies at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from my boyfriend: bonus if the story includes human sacrifice

"Okay, so there was this-"

"No, Da-ad," Henry groused, interrupting. "You've got to start it properly!"

"This isn't a fairy tale, Henry," Neal reiterated, but his son glowered, and he gave in.

"Fine. Once Upon a Time, there was a young man named Galen, and he came from-"

"Are you sure you're telling it like it was told to you?" The boy demanded.

"-And he heralded from a land far in the east. He was but a poor fellow, and had little to his name but his hands and his hard work. For in his own village, Galen was known for his sturdy form and gentle nature. His poor dear mother was a seamstress and she had four other unfortunate children, all daughters. Their father had died in the Ogre war, but five years prior.

'Galen,' she said. 'You must go out into the world to find work, but you shall not find it here. Go out to the Northerly lands, for they have need of a strong back and sturdy legs. If you do not, we shall all surely starve for lack of coin,'

So Galen went out to the Northerly realm, with naught but the pack which his dear mother had made up for him, and the staff which his sisters each carved, and took to be blessed, in secret by the ancient women by the cove. It was in secret, for if the clerics heard of the deed, they surely all would have been scourged for penance- Are you sure you're okay with this Henry?"

The boy nodded vigorously. "Please!"

"-would have been scourged for penance. The hags were old goddesses bound to the land for the last century, and whom would return to their part of nature upon their deaths.

The first was a rickety creature, who rubbed the staff with a preserving liniment, for strength and solidity on the journey. The second old bat had one eye, and her mouth sewn shut, and she carved runes into the wood, filled with the protection and love wished upon the traveler by his sisters. The third was a plump thing, who blew dust from her hand over the staff, imbuing it with a single magical property - the ability to know the proper way.

Upon presenting the gift to their brother, the sisters, each gave him a kiss goodbye. The last was the youngest sister, Darla, who pulled up the hood of his cloak.

'My brother' she said. 'Take care on the way, and trust in the staff, for it shall not lead you to barren lands or untrustworthy folk,'

So Galen began on his way. It was long a winding, and eventually, he stopped off at the hollow of a willow along the riverside for a short nap. But the willow is a strange and changeable fellow. He did not like that Galen had chosen to sleep beneath his branches, for he was to host a gathering of the fair folk, which is to say fairies, and could not do so should a mortal slumber at his roots.

With his terrible whips, he swatted at the traveler until he away, face and arms red and stinging. In his frantic flailing, he had knocked the staff from it's place where he had leant it, and it careened down the river, Galen none the wiser, for he had soon forgotten the words of his sisters as childhood folly. Sore as he was to lose the staff, Galen continued on. Long and arduous was the journey, but eventually, he came to a rock, which he supposed to be the marker about which he had been told to turn down the fork in the road to the left. Now, had Galen still the staff, he would have known that the left path only led to sorrow, bloodshed and grief, but he was too foolish too look after his property, and headed straight into disaster.

There came upon him a strange man, who work green robes and a black hood, and was carrying a large satchel.

'Are you too gone up to the Northerly lands for work?' Galen asked the stranger.

'No indeed, I am headed to a great celebration, for my lord has decreed it. Should you wish to come, it would be splendid for you, for there shall be feasting and merrymaking,'

So Galen accompanied the strange man to the celebration. They left the pathway after a while, and before long, Galen was more lost that he had ever before been, and wishing he had turned back when he'd had the opportunity.

The stranger set a grueling pace and they came upon a carven stone monument, which rose high into the sky and depicted a terrible figure, with a long, lolling tongue and feline eyes. It was neither male nor female in countenance and the strange bowed deeply before it. From the mists, more devotees came forth, and lighted fires soon blazed around them.

Galen was given food and drink, and soon his belly was warm and full, and his head was gone fuzzy, his senses dulled by sweet mulled wine and jerked meats.

"I don't like where this is going," Henry interrupted. "But you should keep going,"

"The folk enticed him to a great pillar which stood before the statue.

'Good guest, you are weary and dizzy. Lean up against this pillar, so you do not fall,'

Grateful for the suggestion, the gullible man child did so.

'Good guest, you are weary still, let us help you to continue standing,' They spoke gently. By this time, Galen was beyond sensible and nodded evenly as he was able before nodding into sleep.

When he came to, he realized that he was tied securely to the pillar. The stranger whom he had followed on the road stood in front of the large gathering, chanting and singing in low guttural tones. Then, he opened his mouth and looked up to the sky. A ray of light swallowed into his throat and the man's eyes glowed blue from beneath the cloak.

The deity to whom the strange preyed had possessed his body and approached the pillar with a jagged nice of ebony, and slayed poor Galen.

The sisters, woeful, had discovered Galen's lost staff in the river, caught upon a rock, and knew immediately that he had been lost to the evils in the land.

And so, Galen was remembered as Galen the Gullible, for he trusted too easily, and was swayed by the frivolities in life instead of remaining concerned for his families well-being,"

Neal hefted a breath, winded. "What'd you think?"

"They told that to you as a bedtime story?" Henry asked, gobsmacked.

"Morraine's mother was a believer in 'if you're scared enough, you'll wise up,' so yeah, bedtime stories about human sacrifice were pretty much the norm,"

"Cool!"

Neal shook his head.

Kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun making this up! I'm not going to lie, I took a bit of inspiration from my favourite video game, Skyrim, for the once, particularly one of the Daedric quests, in which you sacrifice a follower just to get some cool armour. Boethiah's Calling. Anyway, my boyfriend is a horrible human being.


	24. November 24th: And All the Fallen Knights Were Waking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the insight goes both ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: Henry teaches Neal what it means to be a hero.

"Dad, I think you're a hero," Henry said to him one day as they walked down the road for ice cream. The statement threw Neal. Every father wanted to be his son's hero, he thought, but in a town where there was a dashing prince around every corner, and valiant princesses and council members who were wise and supportive, Neal knew he was essentially a no body. 

"A hero huh? Well kid, I guess that depends on your definition of hero, doesn't it?" He responded cautiously. Henry didn't even take a moment to mull over his words. 

"You're a hero," The tween stated with conviction. "I know you are, because you do what's right, even if it's hard. And you don't care what happens to you, as long as we're okay. Your family. That's important. If you're selfish, and do good things because of it, that doesn't make you a good person. It just makes you selfish. You're not like that, Dad. You're not. You're a hero. And all the best heroes made mistakes in the past, and learned from them,"

"I'm flattered, Henry. I'm trying to be all those things. Don't think it's easy, because it isn't always, to do the selfless thing. It's hard,"

"Yeah, but if it were easy, then being a Hero wouldn't mean anything at all," Henry's eyes sparked with the passion of his words and Neal felt his heart well up; the love he felt for his son was phenomenal, astounding, like nothing he'd ever experienced before. Unconditional and unerring. What was best for Henry was all that mattered...all that would ever matter...

"You're wise beyond your years, Henry. Don't lose that," Neal watched as his son smiled, and took his hand, more childlike than he was normally, swinging it as they walked. 

"I won't,"


	25. November 25th: Hope was a Breathing Man with a Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is home to a man without a compass? The compass makes all the difference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: Neal and Henry - the concept of home.

It was becoming increasingly difficult for Neal to find new and fun things for them to do each day. Storybrooke wasn't terribly large, and it was rather outdated. So many things were still like the library had been - closed off, block up. Sometimes, their best days were spent walking on the beach, simply talking. It was that exact activity which so often caused them to bond. Henry was so smart, expressive and unafraid to speak his mind, as was wont of a child his age, Neal know. If he were being honest with himself, Neal knew he was more open with Henry than he was with anyone else. Emma might once have held that position, but it was surely Henry now who knew Neal better than Neal did, even if he wasn't aware of much of his history. Neverland hadn't and wouldn't be brought up unless it became necessary (Neal hoped desperately that it wouldn't), but the facts didn't matter so much to the twelve year old as did the thoughts and emotions and life skills he could learn. Henry wanted to know how to pick a lock - Neal showed him. Henry wanted to know about the best bands of the eurobeat era - Neal told him. Henry wanted to know how to live and love and forgiven and ask to be forgiven - Neal would dedicate his life to it. 

Henry shown, a golden light in the dismal grey and crimson evils of Neal's life. Piece by piece he would redeem himself, to and for himself, through tending his son. There was no greater vocation in life than raising and caring for his son. It would never end. Henry would always need him, when he was old, when he was sick, even after Neal had passed on, he knew that Henry would still need him. Love him. Believe in the goodness of the world, in the possibility and capability in all for light. If he could keep on living, just a little day by day, he might yet find the home that he had so longed for. Really, Neal knew, watching his son walking backwards in front of him, speaking animatedly, he already had. Neal was home.


	26. November 26th: Play On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're similar and different, but kindred souls always meet well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: Henry wonders if Neal plays and instrument + a reference to the darling family or just wendy

They were visiting the shop again, without Mr. Gold's knowledge...well, who knew what Rumplestiltskin was really always aware of? Henry didn't know. But it had become sort of a habit of theirs, to go into the shop and look around. It was easy to get in. Blood magic meant that either of them were granted immediate access whenever they felt like it. Henry just enjoyed looking around and knew that his Grandfather wouldn't mind. Mr. Gold had always seemed to like Henry, almost instinctively 

Sometimes, Henry wondered if it was because Mr. Gold subconsciously could see pieces of Baelfire in Henry, but the boy didn't dwell on it, and didn't dare ask either his Father or Grandfather. Neal was still tetchy about Rumplestiltskin, so Henry wasn't going to push it. What he wanted desperately - more than anything in the whole world! - was for his whole family to get along. Now that was a wish that anyone would find hard to grant, even the Blue Fairy, whom Neal seemed to eminently dislike, which both startled and vilified Henry. 

He trounced about the shop, asking his father about this thing or that. More often than not, Neal was as clueless as Henry, and they had fun making up histories for the items, for their owners. There was a beautiful harp in one corner, and it set Henry to thinking. 

"Dad, can you play an instrument? I mean, I know you really like music, and that doesn't have to mean anything, but I'm just curious," Henry bit his lower lip absently as Neal shook his head no. 

"I never did. Not really. Instrument playing was an art back home. You could make a living off of being a bard, but you had to train for it, and generally it cost a pretty penny. So no, I never learned. And when I came here, there wasn't really much opportunity for it. Once though..." Neal trailed off, lost in thought. 

"What, Dad?" Henry prompted. "Once what?"

"I lived with a family. They had a piano and the girl, she taught me a little bit of piano. I wasn't very good. Really, Henry. I was terrible. Why'd you ask? Are you thinking about picking up an instrument?" Henry balked at Neal's question, but grew thoughtful. 

"Nah. I mean, sometimes I think it might be cool, but when would I even have time to learn? We're always in the middle of a crisis here, aren't we?" Henry's question had a jesting lilt to it, but both were aware of the serious nature of the statement. 

"Well, if you ever change your mind, decide you want to learn an instrument, you tell me and we'll set you up, alright?" Neal offered. 

"Alright, I'll keep it in mind. I think the only instrument I really want to master though is the pen. I like writing,"

"Then write to your heart's content. Never stop doing what you love, kiddo," 

They continued looking through the shop, Henry basking in Neal supportive influence, smiling and happy. He snuck a glance at his father, who had picked up a lute, looking at his strangely. No, Henry might never fully understand his father, but there was one thing he knew for sure. His dad was wrapped around his little finger.


	27. November 27th: A Little Bit of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We can't have peace without love, right? His son asks, and Neal knows that children are the wisest of them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: Neal and Henry watch TV, but whatever the show is, it's weird and a-typical for guys night.

It was a late night TV session. Emma and the Charmings were out on some sort of town duty or another, and Neal had been called in. How Henry had ended up settling on the Miss America pageant, Neal wasn't sure, but that's what they were watching. 

_If you were given the chance to live again, would you do everything over, or would you change an aspect of your life?_

Neal could have sworn that Henry glanced over at him when that question was asked, but he didn't say anything, for which Neal was grateful. Some questions even twelve year-olds could tell were loaded. Mostly it was mindless prattle and women's semi-nude bodies (if Emma found out, was was surely going to catch hell) but the questions went on, and Henry, who had the remote squirreled away somewhere, didn't change the channel. In fact, Neal had half drifted off when Henry spoke up. 

"But Peace usually required love, right Dad?" Neal jarred awake at the sound of his son's voice. "I mean, her answer would be better if she said the world needed more love in it, right?"

"Wha' was the question?" Neal asked, sleepily. 

"'What is the one most important thing our society needs?'." Henry parrotted faithfully. "The contestant said world peace, and I just don't understand why they all say that. Peace starts with love, right? So if they wanted world peace that badly, why don't they say that the world needs more love instead?"

"Because it's a pageant, Henry," Neal's voice was soft. "The contests...sometimes I guess they must care, but for the most part, they just want to win. World Peace is a tried and true answer. Not everyone is as insightful as you, kiddo,"

"Well, I'd tell everyone that the answer was love. A little more love in the world couldn't do any harm, could it?" Neal pulled his son in close to him, curling one arm around the boys shoulders.

"No, Henry. I think it would do a lot of good," A vision of his own father flashed before his eyes. "A little more love could do a whole world of good,"


	28. November 28th: Tender Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry seeks Neal for comfort after an unknown dispute involving David and Emma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: Henry cries, Neal's the one who comforts him.

Things happen, Neal knows. Parents say stupid things, and their children suffer for it. It isn't anyone's fault, it just happens. He thinks he can understand a part of that, now that he's a father. So when Henry runs to his arms, crying, Neal knows that nothing is ever perfect. It doesn't stop him from thinking He's just a boy! This is his child. His child who loves with a heart big enough for the whole world, plus one, and any time he hurts, he hurts hard. 

Neal has learned to protect himself, to trust less easily, to fall back into jokes and the facade of a smile. Neal knows how to put up the walls just enough, so that he won't get hurt. Emma does too, but the difference is that Neal knows how to take them down. 300 years of practice and he think he's finally getting there. 

Henry is still sobbing into Neal's shirt, so Neal crouches, pulling Henry into his arms, hugging tightly. Whatever it was that happened, he will protect his son, if only with a hug. David round the corner, looking mortified and concerned, followed by an enraged Emma. Neal doesn't even want to know. He looks them both sharply in the eyes, conveying his message clearly. 

_I'll handle this._

There's a certain fatherly pride leveled in that look. That this is for him to take care of. That he is in charge (well, in tandem charge) of seeing to Henry's needs. And in this moment, Henry has chosen him to run to, chosen him to seek comfort from. 

Emma hauls David away by the coat sleeve and Neal's grateful. 

He's got this.


	29. November 29th: Irreplacable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry's thoughts on Neal's place in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sister prompt to "Tender Heart" Henry POV thoughts on Neal.

He'll always be biased, Henry knows, in favour of his Dad. No one Emma ever dates (if she never gets back with Neal, which, with Tamara in the picture isn't looking so hot, he thinks dejectedly) will ever compare to him. He gets Henry is a way that the tween intrinsically knows no one else ever will. They won't share the same quiet demeanour, or know the same inside jokes, or have stories about Emma to tell the other. 

No one will know how to smile, just right, when Henry needs cheering up, or how to ruffle his hair with just the right amount of affection. 

No one will ever be his father who isn't Neal. 

Henry decides this one afternoon, after they've had a particularly deep conversation about Nature versus Nurture, loosely disguised as an insight on bear cubs. They both knew what it was really about. 

That's another thing - no one will ever know how to not mention whatever Thing it is that Henry needs to get off his chest. Neal understands. Neal speaks around those Things, finds creative ways to say i'm here, i know, i love you without speaking the words.

He also decides, never to tell anyone about his decision. Having Emma suddenly in his life is so much different from having Neal. He's always had a mom, and now he has two, but he's never had a Dad before. He'd never he thought about it before he'd asked Emma. And never thought about having another once he knew Neal. 

Neal's special, Henry thinks quietly in the back of his brain. Neal doesn't fight over him, he fights for him, Neal doesn't tell him to do things, he explains why they should be done. Neal is calm and gentle and so like Henry feels. 

He loves his moms (even Regina, who is only just making her way back into his good books) and nothing can replace that, but he's carved a special place in his heart for his Dad, and that hole can't be filled. Henry hopes against hope that it never empties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to take a moment and state here, for the record, that I am highly in favour of adoption, of foster families (the good ones) and step parents. Children need love and these people, though they be not biologically related to the child, can give it to them. Children do move on, and do create spaces for these wonderful and important people in their lives. What I'm trying to convey here is how Henry feels in the moment about Neal. Because he's never had a father figure before, Neal is this massively grand figure in his life, who Henry looks up to and idolizes. These thoughts are natural, even if, in the long run, they may not turn out to be entirely true. No, no one will ever replace Neal in Henry's life, but, knowing Henry, he would make room in his heart for a GOOD man, should Emma ever choose one. Needless to say I'm not including a certain someone in that school of fish.


	30. November 30th: Just a Man (Father) and a Boy (Son)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the strongest things start out smallest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My own prompt: Henry and Neal plant a tree.
> 
> I chose this as the final prompt to post, thought I didn't write it last. The culmination of these prompts, not as an ending but as a hopeful beginning. I hope you all agree with me.

It was quiet in the woods at night. Neal had snuck Henry out of the house, in an uncharactaristically immature move, and brought him out into the woods.

"We're going to plant a tree, Henry," He replied in response to his son's questioning features. "We're going to plant a tree, for hope and love and family. What do you think, kiddo?"

"What kind of tree is it?" Henry asked him father, peering at the sapling. It was deciduous, but rather small, and the boy was unfamiliar with the shape of the leaves.

"It's an oak, Henry. Oaks grow twisted and tall. They're solid and dependable, and they always find a way through the bends in the path. That's why we call them Wise Old Oaks. Because they seldom give up, no matter the obstacles. They can't. Too much depends on them,"

Henry nodded, agreeing firmly with his father, almost positive that the tirade wasn't about trees at all. "They have to be there for their families, right?"

Neal placed his hand on Henry's shoulder, steady, firm. "Exactly. Ready?" He asked with inquiring eyes. He'd dug a whole in the ground, just the perfect depth, and now they both hovered over it in anticipation.

"Ready,"

Together, Henry and Neal's hands sent the sapling into it's new home at the centre of the clearing. The moon shone brightly, watching them on their mission. They patted the dirt in firmly around the little tree, and Neal took a flask filled with water and poured it around the thin trunk. Father and son stood back from the sight of new birth, watching.

"You'll always be here for me, won't you, Dad?" Arching his head, Henry looked soulfully to his father. His father, whom he'd only known a month, give or take, his father who was irreplaceable in his life, who was always dependable, willing to pick him up at a moment notice, always fun, but also frightfully serious. His Father, Neal Cassidy, who loved him more than anything else in the whole world.

"I'll do everything in my power, Henry. Always,"

They stood, silent and companionable in the moonlit clearing, watching their good work, believing they could see the sapling taking root and fielding new growth. They didn't touch - no hug, nor a clasped hand to a shoulder. 

Just a man _(father)_ and a boy _(son)_ watching the miraculous work of nature in progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you for all those who trudged through this with me. It's been a great experience for me, and I hope you've all enjoyed as well. I've never done a promptathon before, and I'm appreciative to all those who helped and contributed, and commented.  
> There is one last chapter, Bonus Part 2, which [SPOILER] is super sad, and titled "Just a Man with a Simple Coffin" and is, if you haven't gotten the picture yet, extraordinarily sad. Sorry. It's complete, handwritten, so all I have to do is type, edit and post.


	31. BONUS Part 2: Forgetting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry takes matters into his own hands, and in doing so, has a revelation. Everything he's done to remember his father, can never keep him from forgetting, until, piece by piece, it's all lost to time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quoted a line from 3.11 Going Home

The words ran out more quickly than Henry had expected. The truth be told, he really knew more about his father's character - his likes, his dislikes, his morals, geniality and charm - than he did about anything in his life. Indeed, Neal had been tight-lipped about his life experiences. There were a few things he knew, things he'd badgered his father for, pushing until the older man showed slight irritation. Neal had always had infinite amounts of patience with him, but when the questions filtered in about his past, there was a limit to his abilities.

Henry had the facts covered; where Neal was born, and into a peasant family as Baelfire, who his father was, approximately when he'd been born. Then there was a gap. He knew that when his father was fourteen, Rumplestiltskin had become the Dark One. He knew that shortly thereafter, Baelfire had fallen through the portal and eventually went to live with the Darlings before being drug off to Neverland by the Shadow. He knew that his father spent roughly 300 years there, give or take, and some of it in Killian's company (Henry hadn't quite figured out what sort of relationship they'd had, or how it had begun and subsequently ended) before finally returning to the Land Without Magic. From there, until 2000, Portland, was empty, and from 2001 until the general present was also a gaping hole. He knew a few privileged facts - Neal had worked as an Accountant, he could draw portraiture, he'd substitute taught both math and art - things he was certain that no one else knew.

But they didn't fill in the holes in his story, and Henry wasn't ready yet to write about Neal's sacrifice.

He couldn't even bare to think the word death, or even grave.

Everyone was once again preoccupied. His Grandfather was missing, but awake, and there were too many other things going on that required the adults’ attention. Between the Camelot people, and his mother's plans for Excalibur, they had little time for anything else. Henry had also been making a point to stay clear of Emma. Upset and concerned, he couldn't find a happy medium for how he felt regarding her, and was still feeling the bitter sting of Neal's absence during this particular situation.

So, facing nothing but a blank page, and no story to transcribe, Henry made a decision.

He would sneak into Granny's and find his father's things. It had to be done, at any rate, especially since he had discovered from Robin that the last of Neal's things from the Manhattan apartment were gone.

No one had even bothered to ask Henry's opinion. No one had cared enough to mention it to him. The teen steeled himself to the facts. Everyone was too preoccupied to care about a dead man.

* * *

 

He was thankful enough that his Dad had taught him the finer point of lock picking, even if he'd been strictly warned to only use it under the most dire consequences, and never to mention the lesson to Emma. Before he even took the tools to the lock, Henry gazed at the door thoughtfully. He couldn't even remember the last time that he'd stood here, ready and eager to see his Dad. Or perhaps was it when he was playing lookout for Emma as she searched for dirt on Tamara.

He nodded his head once, affirmatively, pouring confidence into himself. Rolling his shoulders, Henry knelt before the door, and took the tools his father had passed him (on the sly of course) to the room's lock.

"It's all in the tumblers," He murmured under his breath, gently testing for the pins, applying the right amount of pressure on the tension rod and...

_Click!_

The door swung open.

Dust covered the room in a thin blanket on the floor. But Henry wasn't concerned about the tracks he might leave. No one else was bound to come looking in the room anyhow. Neal's things lay scattered about the room, mingling with Tamara's meager belongings. Grateful that her presence wasn't too overwhelming, Henry focused on finding the items, which he was really seeking.

A cell phone and it's matching charger.

Anything else was welcome too; Henry had brought along his backpack, intending on packing up a selection of the items. Gently, he ran his fingertips over the soft fabric of a navy blue scarf left lying on the bedspread. Henry gingerly picked it up and wrapped it around his neck before continuing on.

The nightstand yielded some interesting items, a book, _Cat's Cradle_ by Kurt Vonnegut, Neal's sketchbook and charcoals and at last, the phone and charger. Henry hadn't been sure if he would find it, but it appeared that Neal hadn't been overly concerned about having a phone on him.  He took the book as well, and placed them into his backpack. When he turned back for the sketchbook, he noticed a slip of paper lying atop it, which the book had been hiding.

It read, in his father's untidy, minuscule scrawl _Book List for Henry_.

Henry breathed in sharply. Just like he'd promised. And Neal had never broken a promise that he'd made to Henry. Never.

The sketchbook was added to the backpack, and the book list pressed between the pages of the novel. Moving on, Henry checked the suitcase lying just to the other side, but the contents were mostly hygiene items. The closet yielded more promising results. Henry took the entire hanger on which Neal had placed each of his scarves, and chose a Henley his father had been fond of. Over the last couple months, the teen had had a growth spurt, and it would be nice to have things of his father's.

He left the room, locking it behind him. Beyond the door, lay the only remaining relics of a life lived both far too long, and not long enough.

Like a tomb.

Mission complete, Henry snuck back home. It wasn't hard to climb in the back through the window; he'd grown enough to make that easy. He set the backpack down and unzipped it, looking around his room. Upon searching his closet, he found a shoe box, larger, as it had been from a pair of winter boots, and brought it out. It was a perfect fit. Henry lined it with the scarves, folding them neatly all the same, then placed the sketch book  and charcoal in reverently. On top of that went the book list. Later, he'd add _Cat's Cradle_. He wanted to read some of it, before bed, at the place where his father's bookmark was. Henry placed the cover on, and scavenged his desk for a sharpie.

He popped the cap and set to work, and in a moments notice, in the blank space, he had written 'DAD'S THINGS'. Barely standing on tip toe, Henry hid the box securely on the topmost shelf of his closet, just in case.

Eagerly, he plugged the phone charger in and hooked it up to the cell, waiting anxious for the beeping of a start up tone.

An hour later, he unplugged the cell from it's charger, after setting down _Cat's Cradle_ , his father's bookmark back in it's original location and a new one where Henry had left off. It was weird, and he was totally lost. More than likely, it was one of those books his Dad would have asked him to wait until he was older before reading it, but Henry didn't care.

It had grown late...or rather, Henry supposed, early, judging by the numbers on his clock. He scrolled through the contacts list curiously, passing quickly over Tamara's name, face blank despite his disgust. The list was short. There were very few entries, and even fewer that Henry didn't already recognize. Emma's number, Belle's, Gold's Pawn, the Charmings...even Regina's phone number was listed within. Several appeared to be businesses which Neal must have frequented, including the contact number for a bakery specializing in bagels, and a barber shop. Three others caught Henry's eye. The Madison Square Boys and Girl's Club, the Law firm where Henry assumed Neal had been employed as an Accountant, and a name. Devin Thompson was listed as his father's emergency contact. There was both a work number and a cell number listed beside his name.

Torn, Henry hesitated. He knew it was far too early in the morning to call, but he began wondering if he even should. These people had known his father, had probably cared about him. They deserved to know that he was gone. Henry looked thoughtfully at the phone before putting it back on the nightstand.

He would decide in the morning, when the ghost of his father's memory wasn't bubbling so close to the surface.

* * *

In the end, Henry didn't call anyone. The cons, it seemed outweighed the pros. They would want to know what had happened to Neal, where he was. Where Tamara was. They'd probably assumed he was dead by now anyways, and then Henry would have much more explaining to do. Then there was always the danger that someone would find their way to Storybrooke, and in the middle of his Mother's rampage as the Dark One no less.

No, it wasn't prudent to call anyone, though he desperately wanted to. Nor was it smart to pack some things and head to New York himself, as he'd once done to find Emma. No, Henry was older now, and wiser. Suspiciously enough, the voice in his head warning him against making any rash decisions was his father's. But it wasn't quite right.

Henry almost cried.

He was forgetting. He was forgetting already. The sound of his father's voice, warm, and not terribly deep with a touch of gravel. Henry strained to remember something, anything. A phrase, directly, in his father's voice. In his anxiousness, nothing came.

He slumped in the bed, feeling lost and hopeless.

Several minutes passed before he had an idea. Taking the house phone from it's charging stand, he dialed in his father's phone number, and waiting, listening to the cell buzz.

_"Hi this is Neal Cassidy. I can't come to the phone right now, so please leave your name and a number and I'll get back to you as soon as I can,"_

Henry hung up, and redialed.

_"Hi this is Neal Cassidy. I can't come to the phone right now, so please leave your name and a number and I'll get back to you as soon as I can,"_

_"Hi this is Neal Cassidy. I can't come to the phone right now, so please leave your name and a number and I'll get back to you as soon as I can,"_

Henry listened to the distorted tones, dulcet despite his excitement. He tried to treasure the words, for they would forever be the last his father would speak in his ear. He struggled once more to recall the very last thing Neal had said to him before all of Storybrooke had been engulfed in a cloud of magic.

Despite his every attempt, he could not recall the words.

_I'm sorry, Dad. I'm failing you._

* * *

Everything went from bad to worse in a matter of weeks. Truly, everything was going to hell. Direct to hell. In the back of his head, Henry wondered a few things, mainly along the lines of surprise that he was being dragged along with the adults when normally they'd all want him to stay behind and go to school and be safe. Generically, this was much more exciting than going to school.

There was another thought settling towards the forefront.

Hell was for people with unfinished business. People who weren't _done_ yet.

And suddenly, the words Henry had been trying to remember since he'd first thought to dial Neal's phone to listen to the answering message flew back into his brain.

_Hey, this isn't over. I'll see both of you again._

His father wasn't done yet.

He'd seen Emma, but he had yet to see Henry.

As the adults around him readied for their mission, Henry securely knotted Neal's scarf around his neck.

He was going to save his father.

He was going to get him back from the very depths of Hell.

Henry was going to make sure that Neal saw them both again.


End file.
